


Unveiled

by Aetherios



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Ghost Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Head Girl Hermione Granger, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humor, Post-Battle of Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27061828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aetherios/pseuds/Aetherios
Summary: When Draco Malfoy's ghost begins to float through the halls of Hogwarts, claiming that he's really alive, Hermione knows she can't help him. After all, even magic couldn't bring someone back from the dead. But then again... there's nothing The Brightest Witch of Her Age can't figure out, is there?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 13
Kudos: 125
Collections: Hermione Granger Mythical Creatures Fest 2020





	Unveiled

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [1st_HG_Mythical_Creatures_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/1st_HG_Mythical_Creatures_2020) collection. 



> A huge thank you to [BrightneeBee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightneeBee) for hosting such a wonderful fest, and to the lovely Skeptique for all her help with this story! Prompt: Ghost/Spirit/Poltergeist

Hermione took the steps two at a time, cursing herself for letting her Potions essay run ahead of time. Homework had a habit of swallowing her completely and because of it, she was late for class for the first time since... well, ever. She rounded a corner and halted in her tracks when she felt a cold shiver creep down her spine. She turned around to chastise whoever decided it would be amusing to cast an _aguamenti_ on the Head Girl when she came face to face with Draco Malfoy.

A translucent, floating Draco Malfoy, to be exact. "You— you're dead?" she asked, her eyes widening. It was a stupid question, she knew. Of course, he was dead. He was a _ghost_ for Merlin's sake.

The Malfoy family had been reported missing after the Battle of Hogwarts, and it was assumed that they had simply run away in an attempt to escape the consequences of their actions. She had never considered the possibility that they might have not made it out of the War alive.

And to see one of her classmates dead... She had eventually made peace with Fred's end, given time and consolation by the other Weasleys. But this? This was sudden and _unsettling,_ to say the very least.

"What? I'm not _dead._ Why would you think— wait, you can see me?" he asked, snapping her out of her reverie. She answered with a slow nod. "Brilliant. Figures that Hermione sodding Granger is the only one who can see me. Just my luck," he muttered. "But I suppose you do have a brain buried underneath that doxy's nest you call hair. You might be able to fix me."

"Fix you?" she asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Yes. Just figure out the counter-curse and I'll be back to normal," he shrugged. 

"Back to normal?" What did he mean by that? He was already perfectly normal. As normal as ghosts could be, that was.

"Could you make yourself useful by actually helping me instead of repeating everything I say?" he drawled. "Listen, all I need you to do is cast the counter-curse on me so I can go back to being alive."

"But— but you aren't alive. You're a ghost," she felt compelled to point out. Perhaps she was just imagining him. Her Head duties and studies were all quite frankly getting to her, and it was certainly plausible that her muddled and overworked mind was imagining all of this. 

He snorted. "I think I would know if I were dead, Granger. And I'm not. I've just been cursed, alright? There are a number of tossers here who would get off on something like this, you know. To put 'Death Eater scum' back in their place," he sneered.

Hermione shook her head, trying to process what he was saying. "I know it's probably hard for you to come to terms with it but," she began hesitantly, "you're... you're dead, Malfoy. I don't know when, where, or how it happened, but it did."

Don't get her wrong, it wasn't that she _wanted_ him to be dead. Even gits like Malfoy didn't deserve to meet such a cruel fate, but it was probably unhealthy for him to refuse to accept his death like that.

"No, no, you don't get it," he said frantically, throwing his previous cool demeanor to the wind. "This isn't just denial. I can swear to fucking Salazar that I didn't die. This is some kind of spell or a prank or... I don't know but you have to believe me when I say I'm _not_ dead."

If he wanted to delude himself, that was fine by her. Come tomorrow and maybe he would be gone. "I'll see what I can do," she finally lamented and continued up the stairs for her class. Merlin, she really was going barmy.

* * *

"Granger. Granger. Granger," Malfoy repeated for the fifteenth time that evening. She stared at her plate resolutely, pushing the peas around with her fork. He hadn't just disappeared like she initially thought he would. Instead, he'd been following her around the castle all week, even trailed after her to the loo once. It seemed that he had made it his life's ambition — death's ambition? — to haunt her.

"What is it this time?" she finally relented. Parvati gave her an odd look and she remembered that no one else knew that he was here. "Just talking to myself," she said by way of explanation and shoveled the last of her dinner into her mouth. She swung her bag around her shoulder and left the Great Hall for her dormitories.

"You can't ignore me forever, you know," he said, gliding up the stairs beside her. She quickened her pace, striding to the Dismal Damsel's portrait. She whispered the password and rushed into the Head Prefects' common room, closing the door behind her with a triumphant grin. He would never guess her password.

"You do know that I can walk through walls, right?" he smirked. Hermione huffed and plopped down on an armchair by the fire.

"Why don't you find someone else to haunt? There are plenty of other students here for you to annoy. Romilda Vane seemed to be quite taken with you, if I recall correctly. Although, I think she'd be more flattered than annoyed by your attentions."

"Romilda can't see or hear me, Granger. I'm not sure if you know this, but people generally tend to get annoyed or," he grimaced, " _f_ _lattered_ by something they actually know exists. _"_ She rolled her eyes and pulled out a scroll of parchment and a quill.

He watched her work for a moment before heaving a dramatic sigh. "I don't know why you insist on doing your assignments. None of the other Eighth Years even bother with them," he remarked, lounging on the chaise across her.

"Unlike the other Eighth Years, _I_ want to pass my N.E.W.T.s. Now, hush. I'm trying to decipher these Runes."

"Of course. Don't mind me, I'll just go start up a conversation with my numerous other friends who can definitely hear me," he said bitterly. "I've been stuck like this for months now, completely alone. Finally, I find someone who knows I exist and even _she_ refuses to talk to me."

Hermione looked up at him in surprise. She had never considered that he could be lonely. At least the other ghosts at Hogwarts had each other for company. He only had her. Perhaps she could humor him for a while.

"Fine. How about a compromise?" she suggested, rolling up her scroll. "We can play a game for a while, but after that, you have to promise to let me study."

"Yes, yes, I promise," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "What game did you have in mind?"

Hermione only blinked. She hadn't thought about that yet. "Er, we could ask each other questions? To get to know each other, I suppose," she offered.

"What are we going to do next? Hold hands and sing songs together like Hufflepuffs?" he snorted.

"Oh, just answer the questions. Let's start easy. What's your favorite color? Bonus points to me if it's green."

"That's incorrect. And let me repeat that because it's probably a foreign concept to you, _incorrect_ ," he enunciated. "I actually prefer blue. Yours?"

"Red," she shrugged.

"How predictably Gryffindor of you."

"For your information, I've loved the color red even before I came to Hogwarts. Anyways, next question," she continued.

He opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. "Kneazle got your tongue, Malfoy?" she asked.

He sat up straighter in his seat. "Why don't you talk to anyone else? I mean, I understand that Potter and Weasel didn't come back to Hogwarts, but what about the other students?"

"People don't want to be friends with me..." she started and he immediately scoffed.

"Of course people want to be friends with you. You're a war heroine, people are probably lining up just to breathe the same air you do."

She nodded. "Exactly. People want to be friends with one-third of the Golden Trio, the Chosen One's best friend. They want to talk to the 'Brightest Witch of her Age', not Hermione Granger," she said softly, playing with the frayed hem of her skirt. 

Malfoy responded after a moment. "I don't know. I'd rather talk to Hermione Granger. She's more fun to rile up than those other ones." 

She glanced up at him. "Maybe a less frizzy one, though," he added. "And I could do without her perpetual swottiness—"

"Argh! Just when I think you're actually being _nice,_ you have to go back to being an arse!"

"What can I say? It's in my nature," he drawled and she struggled to hide the smile that threatened to pull at her lips. 

* * *

"Did McGonagall listen to you this time?" Malfoy asked, looking up from his book when she entered the common room. Somewhere during the past month, he had claimed the room as his own. It had been difficult trying to convince Ernie Macmillan that no, there was no one else with her, and yes, she was only talking to herself, but the Head Boy eventually left her alone.

"No," she answered his previous question with a sigh. "She still thinks I've tampered with the memory I showed her last time. She even brought in a Mind Healer to talk to me, but I left before the man could interrogate me. I'm perfectly sane, thank you very much." She was beginning to have her doubts, though. How sane could she be if she was the only one who could see the ghost of her school rival? Not very, that was for sure.

"I don't know, I think I agree with her. No sane person could spend that many hours a day with their head buried in a book," he smirked. "Speaking of books, did you find anything in that section about spirits in the Library?"

"Not yet," she said. She had gone through every book in the Library pertaining to ghosts and spirits and still hadn't found a thing, but she didn't tell him that. How was she supposed to tell him that there was no explanation for his current condition, other than him simply being dead?

"I can read your face like a book, Granger. There isn't anything, is there?" She shook her head. "You can't let me stay like this. I know I was horrible to you back then, that I'm horrible to you even now, but please, don't make me stay like this. Even if I deserve this hell a hundred times over for what I've done," he begged. The sheer desperation in his voice led her to say what she said next.

"I won't. I'll try harder, I promise. I'll talk to Professor Flitwick tomorrow, Trelawney even. We'll figure this out," she assured. He nodded and looked back at his book. She watched as his eyes reached the end of the paragraph and he moved to turn the page.

His fingers passed through the parchment and he swore. "Fuck. I keep forgetting I can't do that," he grumbled. Hermione reached over and flipped the page for him absentmindedly.

"Thanks," he said softly and continued reading. Ten minutes later, he swore again. Hermione looked up from her Transfiguration textbook to see him lying on the chaise with his arms folded behind him. Merlin, she wished that she could look as effortlessly good as he did then.

"I'm bored," he groaned.

"What are you reading?" she asked, plucking the heavy tome from the table. She had charmed the pages to turn every two minutes so she wouldn't have to do it herself.

"The History of Goblin Wars," he answered. "It's interesting enough but, contrary to what you obviously believe, books aren't a very good replacement for actual people."

"I beg to differ. Books are far less nagging, arrogant, and prat-ish than some people I know," she said pointedly.

"I think you meant books are less handsome, witty, and charming than some people you know. And by some people, I mean me."

She would be lying to herself if she said that wasn't true. The git was unfairly gifted with good looks, wit, and even charm when it suited him, but it wasn't as if she was going to tell him that. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Malfoy," she sighed with a grin.

"I thought you were supposed to be the nice one," he mumbled. Her smile only widened.

* * *

"I told Harry about your... condition," Hermione said in the Library two weeks later. "He didn't believe me at first, but I think he's convinced now. He says he'll take it up with the Spirits Division tomorrow." Even though Harry was only a Junior Auror, he still had a lot of influence in the Ministry, being the Chosen One and all that. If he asked the Department of Magical Creatures to look into the matter, they wouldn't have to be told twice.

"No one could deny our savior, I would guess," Malfoy drawled. "More research?" he asked, glancing at the book in her hands. She pulled out the chair across his and sat down, letting 'Ghosts, Ghouls, and You' fall to the table.

He snorted at the title. "Pansy had a book like this back in Third Year, except it was called 'Breasts, Bodies, and You'. Blaise snuck it into our dorms to wank at the moving diagrams."

She pulled a face. "Charming, Malfoy. Anyways, I've read through it twice and couldn't find a thing," she said with a resigned sigh. There was no use in further researching; Hermione had no doubt in her mind that he was simply dead.

It was tragic, really, that his life ended so soon. Former Death Eater or not, no one deserved to die at eighteen. Plus, she was spending a lot of her time with him and it was somewhat disconcerting that her current closest companion was a ghost.

"And Flitwick? What did he have to say?" Malfoy asked, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

"He thinks I'm just hallucinating. At this point, I'm not even sure if he's wrong," she sighed, massaging her overworked neck.

"Of all the things you could hallucinate, of course, it would be the ghost of your enemy."

"I wouldn't call you my enemy, exactly," she chanced, looking up at him. He raised an eyebrow and her confidence wavered. Maybe she shouldn't have been so forward. "I mean, I wouldn't go as far as to say I like you, but I don't _hate_ you," she continued quickly.

Malfoy looked pensive for a moment. "I suppose I don't entirely abhor your existence either. You're good entertainment and somewhat tolerable," he allowed.

"'Somewhat tolerable?' Oh, Malfoy, enough with the compliments, you’re making me blush," she snarked. 

"That's hardly my fault. I never had to compliment Crabbe and Goyle, and all you had to do was tell Pansy that she was the 'epitome of a Malfoy wife' and she was satisfied. I doubt you'd want to be told that."

"You think?" she snorted.

"What am I supposed to do? I've never had a fucking friend before you!" he snapped. Her expression softened and he registered what he had said. "Fucking acquaintance. I meant acquaintance. I mean, of course, I've had acquaintances before but—"

"Malfoy. I'd be happy to be your," she grimaced, " _f_ _ucking_ friend." Was it her imagination, or was that a hint of a smile on his face?

* * *

"This room is so vomit-inducingly red," Malfoy commented. Hermione shrieked and clutched her towel tighter around her body. Not once in these three months that she'd spent with him had he come into her room.

"Yes, well, I think we've already established that I like red," she said, walking to her wardrobe. "How the hell did you manage to get into my room? I locked the door!"

He gestured at his pearly form and she mentally hit her forehead. It was easy to forget that he was a ghost sometimes; he was just so real, so _alive_ that it was almost scary. "Why are you here, anyway?"

"I was bored and you were taking too long in here. So I decided to come inside," he shrugged.

"What if I had been starkers? One second earlier and you would have seen something you'd regret ever seeing!" she exclaimed. She made sure that her towel was covering her fully before pulling on her knickers.

"I wouldn't necessarily say I'd regret it..." he started and she threw a pillow at his head. He smirked when it flew right through him. She wanted to punch that smug look on his face but her fist would go through him too. Stupid ghosts. She snapped on the clasp of her bra and let her towel fall to the floor so that she could rummage through her drawer.

"Salazar, Granger, give a bloke a warning next time!" he said and turned to face the other way. "You have some terribly boring undergarments, you know. Who wears plain cotton at nineteen? Pansy used to wear Aleçon, straight from Paris. I didn't care about it back then, seeing as I was a bit preoccupied with planning murder..." he trailed off darkly. "Anyways, Chantilly would suit you better than Aleçon would."

"I find it concerning that you know so much about lace," she stated, tugging on a pair of jeans. "Also, please avoid talking about my choice of undergarment fabrics. It's incredibly awkward."

"How about I talk about how surprisingly well-endowed—"

"No! Merlin, that's even worse. Do you know how disturbing it is to be checked out by a ghost?" In truth, it wasn't all that disturbing. She loathed to admit it, but she found herself wishing that he did it more often.

She threw on a shirt and Malfoy turned around, giving her an innocent look. "I wasn't checking you out..." She raised an eyebrow at him. "I was checking your _tits_ —"

"You know what?" she interrupted, heat rising to her cheeks. "Please refrain from speaking altogether. The world would be a better place."

"Oh, please. We both know you couldn't bear to live without hearing my voice." And she was surprised to realize he was right. Their teasing conversations, academic debates, and verbal spars were slowly but surely becoming the highlight of her day. And she found that she didn't mind it one bit. 

* * *

Hermione scratched her quill against the parchment, letting the cool water of the Black Lake lap against her toes. Malfoy insisted that she set her textbooks aside and get some fresh air, so here she was.

She had hardly finished one paragraph when he snatched the parchment from her lap. "Hey, give that back!" she demanded, reaching for it.

"When I said you needed to stop revising, that included writing down 'Introduction to Numerology' word for word from memory," he said, leaning back against the tree.

"You only told me to put down my textbooks. That isn't a textbook so technically, I'm not violating any rules," she responded, crossing her arms petulantly. It was already March, and her N.E.W.T.s were less than three months away! He couldn't just take away her study material like that!

"Then I'm adding another. No doing anything that relates to academics at all. You can't even _think_ about..." He flipped through the pages. " _'Using numbers to predict the future?'_ I thought you hated Divination," he accused.

"I do, but Arithmancy and Divination are two completely different branches of magic,” she explained. “Divination is looking at tea dregs and crystal balls and waving scarves around like a lunatic to see your supposed 'fortune'. Arithmancy is anticipating future events through various calculations. Numbers are definite, tea leaves are not."

"'Anticipating future events', is that right? Alright, tell me what I'm going to do in ten seconds," he challenged. 

"That's— that's impossible! There's no way to predict exactly what will happen at a definite time!" she spluttered. "And even then, I would need at least five minutes to calcu— what are you doing?"

Malfoy was leaning towards her, eyes fixed on her mouth and cold hands entangling themselves in her hair. "Could you predict this?" he whispered. Her heart nearly beat out of her chest when his grey lips skimmed hers and then pulled away. She moved to close the short distance between them when he suddenly jumped up with a loud "Shite!"

Hermione took a moment to compose herself and then stood up. "What is it?" she asked nonchalantly. As if he hadn't been just about to kiss her. As if she hadn't been secretly hoping for it to happen for months.

"My hands! They didn't pass through your hair!" He picked up — _picked up_ — the forgotten Numerology book from the grass and stared at it in awe. "Am I normal again?"

Hermione examined his still translucent form and her shoulders dropped. "No. I'm sorry, Draco. But this is a good thing, right? You're not fixed but we're getting there," she promised.

"Yeah. Getting there," he murmured, gazing down at the book in his hands.

* * *

"Why the fuck would the school still hold classes in the same place where their Headmaster was killed?" Draco demanded, glaring at Professor Sinistra as she explained the phases of the moon and what each meant.

"This is the tallest tower in the castle and there's no other classroom closer to the stars," Hermione answered, adjusting her telescope.

"Well, there should be because I hate this fucking tower," he grumbled. Ah. So he was in one of _those_ moods again. "Why did it have to be you?" he asked, turning to her.

"Why did what have to be me?" she replied absently, peering through the lens.

"Why do you have to be the only one who can see me? Why couldn't it be that Patil girl or Astoria Greengrass — hell, even fucking _Longbottom_ — who could have actually made this whole thing bearable? Why did I have to get stuck with prissy, little Hermione Granger of all people?"

Hermione shrugged in answer. She usually ignored him when he was like this, which was a shame because she had a witty retort on the tip of her tongue just _waiting_ to be launched at him.

"Can't even be bothered to respond? I shouldn't have expected anything more from someone like you," he said. Her fist clenched tighter around the telescope. She was trying to ignore him but he was becoming increasingly difficult.

"Fuck. I thought I could hold stuff now," he muttered, the star charts slipping through his fingers. That had stopped happening over a month ago. "You still haven't figured out how to fix me, have you? Father warned me that your kind was useless," he said, taking on that familiar air of arrogance she hadn't seen in a long while. 

Her grip faltered at the words and she swiveled to face him. "What do you mean by 'your kind'?" she demanded. His cold eyes met hers and she recognized the steely barrier in them — Occlumency shields.

"Filth. Your lot is good for nothing," he spat. 

She opened her mouth to retort, but caught herself and took a deep breath. "Draco, just... leave, please. I don't know what's wrong with you, but don't talk to me until you calm down."

"Calm down?" he hissed and she winced at the sheer venom in his voice. "Why the fuck should I calm down? You still haven't done anything! I'm going to be stuck like this forever and you're doing nothing to help me!" 

"I'm trying, Draco. You know I am. We'll get you out of this, I swear, but you need to be patient with me," she told him, trying to keep her voice down. 

"I am being patient with you! I've been patient for six months now and we're getting nowhere. I thought at least you'd help me, being the Golden Girl, the savior of house-elves, and whatnot. _You,_ of all people, would help—"

"I told you that I'm working on it! I promise—"

"Save it. Promises from Mudbloods mean nothing to me, especially ones from you," he snarled and glided out of the Astronomy Tower.

 _Mudblood._ Suddenly she was transported to the Quidditch Pitch all those years ago when he had sneered that slur at her for the first time. The word didn't affect her in the same way it used to, but Merlin, it _hurt_ coming from him now. This was what she got for believing that he had changed, she thought as hot tears prickled behind her eyelids. 

* * *

"Granger, I—"

"Sod off," Hermione said, slamming the door to her dormitory. He glided through the wood and took a seat on her bed. "I don't want to talk to you," she sniffed.

"Listen, I'm sorry for what I said. Truly, I— I fucked up, alright?" 

She let out a half-hearted laugh. "One little apology, and a vulgar one at that, doesn't take it all back," she said and pulled out her star charts. She worked in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again.

"What I said earlier… it couldn't be farther from the truth. I'm lucky it's you," he said.

She stared down at her charts determinedly. She didn't care what he had to say. He had made himself perfectly clear in the Astronomy Tower the night before.

"Anyone else would have refused to help me, or even downright ignored me. They wouldn't have been half as helpful as you have."

She plotted a star with her quill. "I know how hard you've been working at this. I know that you still have hope, even when I've lost hope myself. Anyone else would have given up by now, but you're still trying to help me. I blame it on that bloody hero complex all Gryffindors seem to have," he chuckled. 

Another star. "I'm sorry for what I said, Granger, and I'm sorry for everything else. I'm sorry for becoming one of them, the Death Eaters, and for serving," he hesitated for a moment, "V— Voldemort. And I'm sorry for what I did to— to Dumbledore," he choked out.

She sucked in a sharp breath, her hand hovering over the paper idly. "That tower... I can't handle being in that Tower. So much has happened there," he whispered. "So much."

Hermione dropped the quill and turned to see him pacing across the room, running a hand through his hair. _Blond_ hair, she realized with a jolt. "I hate that place. I hate the Manor. I'd rather be dead and in this cramped room with you than alive and alone in that place. I'd be here with you than anywhere else for that matter."

He walked to her then, lowering himself to be in level with her. "And I'm sorry, so fucking sorry for calling you that word because Salazar, your blood isn't muddy at all, it's fucking _golden_. How could I ever think of you as anything but pure?" he asked, pressing his palms against either side of her face. She leaned into the touch. 

"I don't know what I'm going to do when you leave Hogwarts in a month. What I'm going to do without _you._ Do you realize what you've done to me, witch?" he asked, his voice hoarse. 

And she wasn't sure what she would do when she left either. Somehow, in only half a year, Draco Malfoy had become one of the most important people in her life. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, burying her face in his shirt. His very black, very opaque shirt. She pulled away to look at him. "Draco, I think you— you're— you're solid!"

He shifted a little and chuckled. "You can't blame me for getting a little... _excited_ with a warm, soft witch around me—"

"No, not like that," she said, her cheeks heating at the implication. "You're normal again. Look!" He glanced down at himself and then back at her, his grey eyes bright.

"I'm fixed," he breathed. "I'm fucking fixed," he repeated into her neck. "Thank you, thank you, fuck, Hermione, thank you so much." He mumbled praises against her skin and twice as many obscenities.

"Merlin, I can't believe you're here," she said in a strangled voice, pulling him tighter to her. "We're going to have to go to McGonagall, you know. The Minister, the Aurors, your family... Then there's the Wizengamot, and you don't have to worry about that because I'm going to speak at your trial. But first McGonagall. I'll show her just how bloody sane I—"

"Hate to break it to you, Granger, but anyone sane would've given up on me long ago. You're certifiably _insane_ ," he laughed, his lips capturing hers.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are love!


End file.
